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Amanda.

I lift my hand off the mattress. The effort sends a sharp pull through my back and shoulders. I keep my hand up until her fingers close around mine.

Warm.

Shaking.

Alive.

Her face comes into view, turned sideways to meet mine. Her hair falls forward, pale under the hospital lights. There's a bruise at her temple. Her eyes are swollen from crying.

I hold on to her hand and look at her like I need to memorize every detail.

She studies me for a long second. Then her face twists like she's trying not to cry, and she's angry at herself for losing.

"So," she says. "Comfortable? You look comfortable. Very dignified. Ten out of ten."

I almost laugh.

Almost is enough to hurt.

"Hell no," I say.

"Good."

She leans down and kisses me. Soft. Careful. Not uncertain. She kisses me like she needs to know I'm really here.

When she pulls back, her palm stays on my cheek. Her thumb moves once over the stubble there.

"You're going to pay for what you did tonight," she says.

Her voice doesn't shake. That worries me more than if it did.

"You traded yourself like you were completely disposable."

"It got you out."

"It almost got you killed."

"I knew the terms."

Her thumb stops.

I keep her hand in mine.

"The woman they had with you. Who was she?"

Amanda exhales and sits on the edge of the bed, careful with the mattress, careful with me.

"Francesca." She shakes her head once. "Her sister disappeared at eighteen. Aldo. The agency. She spent years getting close to him. The job, the parties, all of it. She was gathering evidence to burn him down."

I think of Francesca at the bar. The smile. The deflection. The way she moved through that room like every man in it had mistaken her for decoration.

"She pointed you toward the corridor at the gala," Amanda says. "She found you on purpose."

"After?"

"She took my purse from the room. My phone. She didn't want it ending up with Basile's men. They grabbed her anyway. They had her for days, and she gave them nothing."